


Whatcha Writing?

by DaftPunk_DeLorean



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Coffee Shops, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve is an erotica author, Stony - Freeform, Story within a Story, Superhusbands, Tony owns a coffee shop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:53:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7276171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaftPunk_DeLorean/pseuds/DaftPunk_DeLorean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is a starving artist who gets by as an author of erotica and adult fantasies. Tony is the dashingly handsome owner of the coffee shop where Steve spends all his time writing, and who also happens to be Steve's full-time muse. Steve's stories involve adventure, romance, steamy sex, and most importantly, Tony. But writing lusty fantasies about his muse was one thing; falling helplessly, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with him was something entirely different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatcha Writing?

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the following prompt from the lovely hungarianbee: Modern AU with a hint of Coffeshop AU, where (pre-serum) Steve is a writer, and Tony is the barista of the coffee shop Steve likes to go whenever he needs inspiration (or a look at his muse).

Steve stared at the screen of his beat-up laptop like it had done him wrong. His brow furrowed and his lips turned down and his long, graceful fingers hovered over the keyboard expectantly, but nothing came to him. 

God, who was he kidding? He was a shit writer.

Steve glanced up sideways, hoping to spend a few moments staring at the unfairly gorgeous barista who made him his black coffee every day, and made fun of him good-naturedly when Steve loaded it with as much cream and sugar as the cup would hold. 

Tony, was his name. As in, Tony’s Coffee, the best coffee shop in the goddamned world. With its squashy chairs that encouraged customers to linger, rather than hurry in and out with their orders. Tony’s Coffee, with its fair-trade beans and shiny red and gold enameled, in-house roaster behind a window where everyone could see and smell. Tony’s Coffee, as in the place where Steve went almost every day to write, and more often than not, gaze surreptitiously at his muse behind the counter.

But this time, his muse wasn’t there, with his dark hair falling over his forehead and sharp goatee looking nothing like what you’d expect from such a non-corporate place. Steve glanced about, seeing him nowhere, then scowled back at his computer. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the scene he was working on, and let his fingers type as they pleased.

_Tony held Steve to his bare chest on the rooftop that night, pointing a gun at the assassin like he was born with it in his hand._

_“You take him, and I take every part of you to the river. Separately,” Tony growled, and lowered the gun an inch to clearly point at the assassin’s groin, a deadly smirk on his lips. “Starting right about there.”_

_Steve wanted to fight, wanted to lunge at the man who had held him captive and hurt him, but Tony kept him back, kept him safe. Despite Tony’s threats, the man advanced on them, and Steve knew Tony only had one bullet. Soon they were backed to the edge of the roof, and Tony glanced down behind him, then back at the assassin._

_“Ah, I see we have reached the end of our dance,” the assassin purred, and Tony practically snarled._

_“Not today, asshole.” He turned his head and gazed at Steve for a moment, before kissing him hard and deep and fast. “I love you. I’ll be right behind you,” Tony whispered, then threw Steve off the roof. Steve screamed all the way down, utterly betrayed, until he landed in a soft pile of garbage in a dumpster. He scrambled out and looked up, barely able to make out a struggle. Tony was lean muscle and graceful moves, but the assassin evenly matched him. Then Steve jumped, sickened, when he heard a single gunshot, and saw one of the men go down. A shadowy figure turned to look down at him, and he couldn’t tell in the darkness if it was Tony or the assassin._

_“Tony!” Steve yelled at the rooftop, just as the man appeared to be raising his arm, and Steve couldn’t tell if he held a gun, pointed at h_

“Whatcha writing?”

“Christ Almighty!” Steve shouted, nearly flinging his laptop across the room in his haste to shut the lid.

“Whoa!” Tony said, leaning back in the chair that he’d just slid into. “What, did I yank you out of Narnia, or something?” 

“No! I’m just- fuck-“ Steve panted, staring at the table and raking his fingers through his hair. He finally looked up at Tony (oh God, Tony was sitting across from him. No counter between them, no safe barrier to keep their endless flirting in check. Just. Oh God), giving him a crooked smile and pretending that he wasn’t blushing all the way down to his dick. “Sorry. Just startled. Did I use up all the internet, or something?” he greeted by way of an incredibly lame joke that even made him want to groan. He almost sagged in relief when Tony laughed.

“No, old man, the internet isn’t finite,” he teased, then set a very large, very frothy drink in front of Steve, with Steve’s name written on the cup in neat block lettering. 

“What’s this?” Steve asked, leaning forward curiously. Tony grinned smugly and Steve’s heart skipped a beat because Tony was too pretty to be allowed.

“A cheesecake churro funnel cake frozen espresso,” Tony said proudly. “For you.” 

Steve stared at Tony for an unacceptably long stretch of time, then his blush darkened again, this time with embarrassment.

“I can’t pay for that, I only have 73 cents,” Steve said, ashamed. Tony made a flippant gesture of brushing it off.

“On the house. It’s cheaper than you going through a pound of sugar a day in your black coffee anyway.” Tony grinned again, then waggled his brows. “I get the impression you like things sweet.”

“Um.”

“Or maybe you like to come in every single day, rain or shine, and steal glances at a certain barista? I mean, I am sweet, very much so, so I don’t blame you for your sweet tooth.”

Oh, _shit._

“Oh. Uh… Tony. Can I call you Tony? Of course I can, I call you Tony all the time… um, I didn’t mean to- I hope I didn’t cross a line, I- sometimes I just stare off into space when I have writer’s block and I-“ Steve was positively drowning in his verbal diarrhea, and Tony just leaned back in his chair and nodded along like an asshole, but Steve would have let Tony step on him if he wanted, for no other reason than because he was so gorgeous. Finally Steve slumped, defeated.

“Sorry,” he said. Tony ignored his apology and leaned forward, pushing the decadent drink an inch towards Steve with just his index finger. 

“If I was offended, I wouldn’t be over here using an obscenely sweet drink as an excuse to talk to you,” Tony said in a lower voice that dropped straight to the base of Steve’s spine.

“You-“ Steve started, his complete inability to talk to guys (or girls for that matter) getting the best of him. “Uh, thanks.” He picked up the drink and sipped, and couldn’t stop himself from an inappropriate moan.

“Tony, this is really good,” he finally said, and Tony grinned.

“Good. And now that you’ve moaned all over my drink within earshot of at least half my customers, you wanna tell me what you’re writing in here, all day, every day?”

“Oh! Yeah, um, I’m sorry, I get- I get dumb around people, and I forget stupid things like-“

“Like what you’re writing?” Tony prompted, amused.

“Nothing. I mean, nothing that- I can’t- I mean it’s just the usual…” Steve screamed internally and wanted to die. “I like your coffee shop a lot,” he finally said lamely. Tony laughed again, and Steve just sighed quietly to himself. Tony’s eyes were like honey, and they crinkled at the edges when he laughed. He had a few silver hairs in his goatee, and Steve would bet money that Tony dyed it. He imagined making fun of him, sitting on the bathroom counter, while Tony brushed dye into his whiskers, a towel draped around his neck…

“Still with me?” Tony said, and Steve realized he’d been staring dreamily like an asshole. 

“Yeah, yeah, just… trying to write a scene in my head and got distracted.” 

“Right. Sooooo I’m gonna guess you’re a writer? Like as your day job?” Tony asked again, leaning forward with interest, his chin in his hand. Steve cringed at the dreaded question. 

“Yeahh,” he hedged. After all, it wasn’t like he could tell Tony that he was an erotica writer, a noted author of many a thrilling corset ripper and gay tryst. Especially since Tony was his muse, and Steve had written an entire erotic series with Tony at its center (or on his back or his knees or-) well, anyway, Steve wasn’t going to tell. Tony arched a brow.

“Uh-huh,” Tony said clearly amused, then tapped Steve’s horrible excuse of a laptop with a revolted expression. “Jesus fucking Christ, is that your computer? That you actually type on? Oh my god, just looking at it is giving me chest pains.” 

Steve pulled his computer toward him defensively.

“It’s not that bad, it’s just old,” he said, frowning.

“What are you running on that, anyway? Windows 12 B.C.?

Steve couldn’t help an explosion of laughter, his heart feeling even happier when Tony seemed pleased that his joke made Steve laugh. 

“You’re kind of an asshole,” Steve said with a big, crooked grin, and Tony winked as he got up. 

“ _The_ asshole. Look, I gotta get back to work, but you keep coming in and prettying up my shop, and there’s more where that came from,” he said, pointing at the drink, and was back behind the counter before Steve could say anything. 

After a dazed moment, he opened his screen again, but this time, he typed furiously, the ideas coming to him like an avalanche. And every time he stole a glance at Tony, Tony just happened to be looking at him, and grinned at him every time.

________________________________

The next time Steve came in, he sat right down in his usual spot. He didn’t bother to order coffee, since all he had was that same 73 cents and he wanted to save it for a black coffee emergency. But today, the words flowed like a mighty river, even though he didn’t see Tony behind the counter until he’d worked for well over two hours.

Steve indulged a moment while Tony put on his apron with his back towards Steve. Tony’s shoulders were broad, and would dwarf Steve’s delicate frame. But Tony’s waist was narrow, his lower back dipping just right so that his round ass looked like a heavenly pillow that Steve would kill to bury his face in. He missed Tony’s glance, because he was already back at his typing, unashamed to be using their own names. He always went back and changed them in the edit, anyway.

_Steve pressed lingering, humid kisses down his lover’s spine, moving with Tony as he writhed beneath him and made soft, sweet, wanting noises._

_“Shh… We only just started, baby,” he whispered, ghosting his fingertips over Tony’s sides, raising goosebumps until he could grip Tony’s hips and kiss the two dimples just above his deliciously round ass._

_“I’m gonna make you forget your name…” Tony growled under him, and Steve just laughed against his warm skin._

_“I expect nothing less. If I didn’t love you so much, I might forget your name, too.”_

_Tony rolled gently under Steve, until he was settled and could pull Steve up to straddle his hips, their cocks slotting together perfectly._

_“You know what I want?” Tony asked, rolling his hips under Steve’s, causing Steve to part his lips and drop his head back as he mirrored the movement._

_“Mmm, what? Steve breathed, his lips pink and parted and eyes closed, as he laced his fingers with Tony’s._

_“I want you to turn around and suck my cock while I prep your pretty little ass to take it,” Tony purred._

_“Tony… fuck, you make me want to“_

“Whatcha writing?”

“Nothing! Lord, you walk like a damned cat!” Steve hissed, slamming his laptop closed again, looking up snappishly at Tony. Tony just grinned at him.

“You’re a little fireball. I like it. I bet you get in alley fights all the time, with that attitude. So really, what are you writing?” Tony said, turning the seat across from Steve and straddling it, setting another frothy drink in front of Steve.

“Nothing,” Steve said, eyeing the drink hungrily.

“Seem to be working awfully hard on nothing,” Tony teased, and Steve smirked.

“Could say the same about you,” he said, arching a brow and nodding his head toward the unmanned, empty counter. Tony snorted.

“Touché, Mon Capitan. However, I don’t work furiously for two solid hours, then pretend I’ve done nothing.”

“Different strokes, different folks,” Steve said flippantly, then looked at the drink again, beads of sweat rolling down the glass the way he imagined they would roll down Tony’s muscled back. “What is this?”

“Black forest blended espresso with cherry syrup and chocolate ganache drizzle. Sweet, but a little bitter to go with that bad attitude of yours,” he teased. Steve huffed a breath, but didn’t argue. Tony was annoyingly (endearingly) perceptive.

“You know I’m not showing up here every day to- to- prostitute myself out for free drinks and- and-“

Tony barked a loud laugh, attracting the attention of several seated customers.

“God, could you be any more awkward? Tony asked, leaning forward and taking a sip of Steve’s drink. “I’m not giving you drinks because I expect anything in return. I’m just giving you drinks. So. At least tell me what kind of stuff you write. You got a blog? Write obits for our dearly departed? Technical manuals? What is it?”

Steve slowly took the drink, sipping out of the straw after Tony and boldly holding his gaze as he did so, making sure to lick his lips after in a surge of defiance, despite his ridiculous blush. 

“Stories,” he said vaguely.

“Stories.” Tony said, his eyebrows raised expectantly. “Stories about…?”

“People?”

“Stories about people. Sounds riveting. And what do these people do?”

“Things…” Steve finally just dropped his red face into his hand with a defeated sigh. “I’m a novelist. I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. Tony held up his hands in a disarming gesture.

“All right, all right, I can take a hint. You do your thing, pal. Just let me know if you want another drink. On the house,” he said with a winning grin. Steve smiled a dopey little grin completely not on purpose, that left him wondering for a split second why Tony chuckled to himself as he walked away. Steve could have slapped himself when he caught his reflection in his computer screen when he opened his laptop back up.

_______________________________

“So when did you open the shop?” Steve asked. Their little encounters had grown into more than just awkwardly flirtatious banter, while Steve pretended he hadn’t just been writing about Tony stuffing his cock in Steve’s mouth. Tony was settled beside him on the particularly comfortable couch in the corner, letting another barista man the counter. Steve crossed his legs toward Tony, and was secretly pleased when Tony did the same and their feet occasionally brushed against each other.

“About seven years ago. It started as a hobby. My friend Pepper insisted that I needed something to occupy my time. Then I discovered that my coffee addiction turned into something of a coffee passion,” Tony said, sipping his own black coffee. Steve laughed softly.

“Most people don’t start small businesses as a hobby,” he said. Tony just smirked into his mug. 

“Most people aren’t me,” he said with a wink in Steve’s direction.

Well if that wasn’t the goddamned truth, Steve thought, already writing that saucy wink into a scene.

“Mm, I’m starting to realize that,” Steve said, tapping his fingers idly on the cushion between them. He would be okay with Tony taking his hand. But he didn’t want to seem to eager. Tony looked at him with that perceptive gaze over the rim of his coffee cup, then rested it on his knee. 

“You don’t like writing,” he said, not a question. Steve raised a brow.

“What makes you think so? It’s my job.”

“Well, just because it’s your job doesn’t mean you like it. Besides. All you do is frown at your keyboard. You don’t like it.” Tony said. Steve huffed, smirking as he picked at a burr on his jeans.

“It’s not that I don’t like it. There are parts I really, really enjoy.” Like writing about Tony. He never got tired of that. “But it’s not what I _really_ love, so yeah, I guess you could say I don’t particularly love it. Writing gets in the way of what I really love.” Tony leaned forward a bit, interested.

“Which is?”

“Painting. I went to art school. Got into all kinds of student loan debt, got a dozen articles in as many art journals saying how good I am, and I still can’t sell a damn painting to keep a roof over my head,” he said with a wry smile. “The American Dream these days, huh? So I write to pay the bills. I guess it’s a form of art, right?” 

Tony just gave him that look again. Not piercing, but definitely perceptive.

“You could hang some of your art here, if you wanted.”

Steve paused. That… that would actually be really helpful. But he frowned.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What are you getting out of all this? The free drinks, hanging my art… Are you gonna slap a big bill on me at the end of the month and get a big laugh in the back room with the other baristas? Because I’ll tell you right now that I’m not gonna be able to pay and I don’t appreci-“

But Steve was interrupted by Tony’s charming laugh and a hand hesitantly covering his own. 

“It really doesn’t occur to you that someone might just want to get to know you better, does it?” Tony asked, amused. He got up, finishing his coffee in a gulp. He grinned at Steve. “Don’t you ever just want to spend time with someone you like?”

And like that, Tony was gone, back to bustling behind the counter. 

“Yes,” Steve murmured too late, watching how graceful Tony’s wrists and hands were with his pushed-up t-shirt sleeves as he made espresso. Steve went back to writing, smiling and warm when Tony wordlessly slid a sweet black coffee and a couple of biscotti onto his table, brushing Steve’s forearm nonchalantly as he returned to the counter.

_______________________________

_Tony gently pushed Steve down into the pillows, his tanned, muscled body covering Steve’s porcelain, delicate frame. He kissed his way down Steve’s throat, lingering at his collarbone to nibble a reddened mark there. Steve gasped softly and arched into him, his hands trying to pull Tony closer._

_“Tony… touch me, I need you, I need-“ Steve begged in a desperate whisper, and Tony laughed quietly against his soft skin._

_“Mmm, so impatient,” he murmured, nibbling and kissing over Steve’s nipples until he couldn’t stay still under Tony. Tony stroked his hands over Steve’s hips, and Steve made a soft, needy noise as he thrust his hips upward. Tony slowly licked over the head of Steve’s cock and Steve’s breath caught._

_“Please! Tony, please…” Steve begged, and Tony held him down by the hips, keeping him torturously still, as he pressed kisses and tender licks all over Steve’s cock until Steve begged senselessly, so close, but not close enough. Finally Tony had mercy on him, lazily taking him into the wet warmth of his mouth, and Steve couldn’t_

Steve’s laptop made an abrupt and alarming buzzing sound, then with a horrible, mechanical crunch, and the screen went dark. 

“What?” Steve mumbled, tapping the keys, then hitting the power button, then banging the side of the computer, growing ever more frantic. 

“No… no, _no, no, no,_ ” he mumbled desperately. Did he just lose his entire fucking novel? Was his beast of a laptop finally dead? Dammit, he couldn’t afford another, he couldn’t afford the repair costs, he couldn’t afford-

“You all right over here?” Tony asked, sitting across the table from Steve again, another drink in hand that Steve completely ignored. Steve shook his head, his damn eyes prickling in frustration. 

“Oh I’m fine, just my piece of shit laptop is having an existential crisis again and I might have just lost my novel,” Steve said, flipping it over and popping the battery out and back in, just in case, but with no luck. Tony watched with curiosity, before laying a hand on Steve’s laptop and calming Steve’s frantic movements. 

You know, I’m _kind of_ a tech guy. And not in a hobby sort of way. Like, in a let me fix your shitty computer sort of way. You are personally hurting my feelings by using that thing in my presence,” Tony said. Steve immediately hugged his computer to his chest. 

“No, no way. Uh-uh,” he said, just imagining Tony getting it up and running and seeing all the erotica he’d written of Tony and himself. He imagined Tony reading the adventure story he was currently writing where Tony rescued Steve from a dastardly assassin, only to have to go on the run and fall in love in the process. He would actually die of humiliation. But more importantly, “I can’t afford it,” he said lamely. Tony smiled kindly.

“On the house,” he said, and Steve thought it wasn’t fair how nice Tony was. 

“I can’t. Thank you, but- I can’t,” Steve said, rushing to pack up his things and get out of there as fast as he could, humiliated as Tony called after him.

______________________________

Steve couldn’t show his face at Tony’s coffee shop for three days, and he didn’t manage to write a single word in that whole time. His computer was still a brick, and even cataloguing the potential sale of his meager belongings and art projects, he wouldn’t have enough for repairs or a new laptop. And the idea of accepting Tony’s charity made him bristle. It was bad enough that he accepted his free drinks, but Steve couldn’t ask this of him, too.

But finally Steve made it back to the coffee shop, curled in the corner of his favorite sofa, writing furiously in the neat cursive his Ma made him learn, in a good old fashioned, spiral bound notebook. 

_Tony leaned back against the headboard, his broad palms running up and down Steve’s back. Steve gasped softly, arching back into his touch, grinding down slowly on Tony’s cock. Tony was thick, and Steve savored the slow, lazy lovemaking, every nuance of Tony’s gorgeous cock sliding in and out of him._

_“So beautiful…” Tony murmured, half-lidded and lips parted, his gaze roving over Steve’s delicate body. Steve let his head fall back, moaning quietly as Tony grazed his fingertips down the long, porcelain line of his throat, over his collarbone, then down to a nipple. Steve’s cock jerked, and Tony moved his hand down to stroke it slowly, his other hand still in the small of Steve’s back._

_“Tony… I’m not gonna last…” Steve breathed, rolling his hips as Tony pressed up into him, both of them riding the edge, drawing out the hot pleasure of the moment._

_“Don’t try, honey. Just come,” Tony whispered, pulling Steve closer so he could mouth at Steve’s collarbone. Steve dropped his head to rest his cheek against Tony’s hair, and in a quiet, powerful rush and a soft, sweet noise, Steve came into Tony’s hand. He shuddered, but this wasn’t a hard, screaming, fuck. It was tender and loving and…_

_“I’m- I’m almost-“ Tony breathed, and Steve kissed him so sweetly as Tony gasped against his lips, pulsing into Steve. Steve could have sworn he felt Tony’s heartbeat inside his own chest._

_“I love you, Tone,” Steve whispered, and Tony smiled against his lips, panting._

_“I love you more.”_

_“You would think that, and yet.”_

_“And yet,” Tony echoed, laughing very, very softly._

_The sweetness of their quiet lovemaking, their moment of safety from the assassin who chased them, was only made sweeter by their gentle banter. They only had a few hours left before they needed to make a run for the extraction point, but they would spend those few hours carefully mapping each other’s bodies, memorizing curves and bone and kissing inches of warm skin. They would make love as though it might be their last time, which it very well could be, from the moment they stepped foot outside their seedy, roadside motel. No matter what happened, Steve wanted Tony imprinted on him in every way, for as long as he lived._

Whatcha writing?” Tony asked, flopping next to him on the couch with his usual broad grin, and Steve stuffed the notebook between his thigh and the arm of his couch.

“Nothing,” Steve replied, his grin just as broad. Tony’s bright smile seemed to erase all the frustration of the last three days. 

There was a quiet moment where they just enjoyed looking at each other before Tony jerked his chin towards the corner of Steve’s notebook.

“Going analog, huh?”

Steve flushed, but nodded, running his fingertip absently over the spiral edge of the notebook, making a zipping sound as he did so.

“Gotta do something. Looks like my laptop is going to be a brick for the foreseeable future. I’m just trying to write down as much as I remember of what I already wrote, just in case I do end up losing it,” he said, sighing with frustration. Tony frowned at him for several long seconds.

“You know, I was serious about fixing your computer,” Tony said, his previous banter gone. He laid a hand on Steve’s wrist. “I mean it. I don’t want anything in return. I just want to help. As a friend,” he said, and looked down at his own knee. “As maybe more than a friend.” Steve just stared, his wrist positively pulsing with heat from Tony’s hand. 

“I don’t know…” Steve said quietly, then became the immediate victim of the most pathetic set of puppy dog eyes he’d ever had cause to witness.

“Please?” Tony said so sweetly, and Steve’s resolve immediately crumpled. He ducked his head.

“You know, I was just thinking the other day how unfair it is how nice you are,” he mumbled. “And pretty. It’s unfair.” Tony was quiet, and Steve was sure he’d crossed a line.

“And here I thought I was trying to woo a guy who was way out of my league,” Tony said softly, and Steve looked up in surprise.

“Me?” he asked incredulously. Tony rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, you, c’mon,” Tony said, nudging Steve’s shoulder with his own. Steve was acutely aware that Tony still touched his wrist, and all the sounds in the world seemed to keep getting louder and louder, even in his bad ear. Steve considered, but really, he was desperate. He hated taking charity, but this was his career he was talking about. Not a particularly lucrative one, but a career nonetheless.

“All right. But just- just promise me you won’t go snooping around,” Steve said vaguely, looking up at Tony with big, blue puppy dog eyes of his own, and the tiniest smirk played on the corner of his lips when Tony looked like he fell right off the edge of a cliff and into Steve’s eyes.

“Right. Um. You just, uh… bring it by tomorrow and I’ll get it fixed right up,” Tony said, his tone a little dazed. This time, Steve turned his hand under Tony’s so he could hold hands with him, however hesitantly. Tony stared at their hands, while Steve stared at Tony. 

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve said in a warm, quiet voice, and Tony looked up at him, still a little dazed.

“You’re welcome, Stevie. I mean. Steve. You’re uh, you’re welcome. I need to get back to-“ he said, fumbling his words as he jerked his thumb at the counter. Steve smiled at him, letting go of his hand so Tony could get up. Steve fumbled in his pocket for a moment, and held out 73 cents. 

“Can I get a small cup of black coffee, please?” he said, smiling happily at Tony, and just like that, Tony’s smile lit up the entire planet. 

“As you wish, Mon Capitan,” he said cheerfully, heading back to the counter without taking Steve’s 73 cents.

_____________________________________

_“Tony… I can’t go any further…” Steve panted, the heavy, sultry humidity of the jungle pressing the air from Steve’s lungs. Tony was there, wearing only ripped jeans and a sheen of sweat, steadying Steve and helping him sit on a rock._

_“I know, Stevie. I know this is hard for you. We just have to get to the extraction point, and we’ll be safe. This is the only way we can go where they can’t track us,” Tony said, obviously trying to be strong for Steve, even as the insects nearly consumed him and he was just as tired and frustrated and hungry as Steve. Steve tried to be just as strong, his stubborn, angry, Brooklyn determination being the only thing keeping him standing._

_“I’m fine,” Steve grumbled, reaching for his canteen with shaking hands, tipping it to his lips to find it empty. Tony’s was empty long ago. “I just need to… rest for…” Steve mumbled, trailing off, only to have Tony swat his cheek lightly._

_“Steve. Stevie. Stay with me, okay?”_

_Steve nodded, shaking his head to clear it. It was just so hard to breathe. He tried to fill his lungs, but without his inhaler, all he got was wet, wheezing coughs. His vision tunneled again, and he must have swayed, because next thing he knew, he was slumped against Tony’s chest._

_“Shit.” He heard Tony mumble, and Steve tried to sit up, wheezing as he did._

_“S-sorry…” he mumbled, and suddenly he was being swept up._

_“Don’t you dare apologize. We’re getting to that extraction site if I have to carry you there myself,” Tony said, cradling Steve to his chest bridal style. Steve’s head pillowed against the muscles of Tony’s shoulder, and he looked up and felt like he was being carried by an angel. The sun haloed Tony’s dark, mussed hair, his jaw was set in raw determination, and his bare chest pressed against Steve’s overheated skin._

_Tony was a vision of absolute beauty, Steve thought just as he passed out._

“Whatcha writing?”

“Nothing,” Steve said hastily, but with a happy grin, stuffing his notebook into his worn backpack as Tony flopped down on the couch very close beside him, putting his arm around Steve’s shoulder, then looking into the distance in front of them and gesturing his hand as though painting a vista with words.

“Imagine this. An ordinary Thursday. You’ve given me your computer to fix, and as you take your seat at the table where your paintings hang on the wall, I put your perfectly functioning laptop in front of you with a sugar bomb espresso. You are now free to write your Great American Novel and not ever let me read a word of it,” Tony said, his tone almost breathless as though he could imagine such a scene into existence. Steve leaned into him, laughing and breathing in the scent of coffee and aftershave, and enjoying the warmth and weight of Tony’s arms around his shoulders.

“Well today must be your lucky day,” Steve said, pulling his dilapidated laptop out of his backpack and setting it on Tony’s lap. “Now, don’t mess with the duct tape too much, it’s holding the casing togeth-“

“You’re. Duct tape. You’re using duct tape,” Tony said, picking at the mess of star-printed duct tape on one corner. “And here I was stupid enough to think it was decoration,” he said, grinning up at Steve with both awe and amusement. 

“Well, that’s why I got the star-printed kind. It was prettier,” he pointed out.

“Prettier.” 

“Well, isn’t it?”

Tony pulled Steve a little closer, crossing his leg so that his ankle rested against Steve’s shin.

“I can think of a few prettier things,” Tony said more quietly. Immediately, Steve blushed a deep pink, but he smiled for Tony, somewhat crooked and a little dazed, but special just for him. 

“Um. Me too,” he said lamely, but couldn’t take his eyes of Tony’s. “I really appreciate you doing this for me.” Tony seemed closer, and Steve liked it, and subtly shifted closer himself. They were touching from shoulder to ankle, and Steve liked how his smaller body nestled against Tony’s, fitting against him like they were designed as a pair. Tony’s lips were dangerously close, and Steve couldn’t pull his eyes away from them.

“Anytime,” Tony murmured.

“Tony! For god’s sake!”

Both of them jumped at the shout, and Tony’s head shot up to see a line at the bar, where his friend Rhodey was the only barista working. 

“Fuck, gotta go,” Tony said, standing and hugging Steve’s computer to his chest. “I promise I’ll do what I can,” he said, and Steve reached out and squeezed his hand. 

“Thanks a lot, Tone. Now quit sitting around on your ass and do your damned job,” he said with a smirk, making Tony bark a laugh.

“You know what? This is an occasion that needs to be commemorated,” he said with a beaming smile, and sat back down, pulling out his phone. “Smile,” he said, leaning in close to Steve to take the picture. Steve indeed smiled, wildly delighted to see them looking so happy together in one photo. Tony snapped the picture and pocketed his phone.

“A Kodak moment, without a doubt,” Tony said, nudging Steve’s shoulder with his own, before he got up and hopped that fantastic ass over the bar to help make drinks.

Steve grinned to himself for a long time as he scribbled furiously in his notebook, getting caught up in quite a few inappropriate illustrations along the way.

_____________________________

In the weeks that followed, Steve spent several very pleasant evenings after hours with Tony, hanging his art together around the shop. And Steve had to admit, it looked great in there. He carefully taped tags with his business card and the price of the painting next to each piece, letting Tony’s hand linger on the small of his back each time. The tension was palpable; every moment seemed like a kiss that just hadn’t quite happened yet, and they took every opportunity to touch. Steve steadying Tony on the stepstool with a hand on one thigh, Tony wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist when he lost balance under the weight of a larger canvas.

Steve treasured those hours spent with Tony. Never mind the fact that Tony must secretly have some rich friends, because suddenly his art was selling right off the walls, and he could hardly bring in new canvasses fast enough (which of course gave him an excuse to spend another evening with Tony ordering takeout and lounging on the couch, while Steve rested his head on Tony’s shoulder and looked at his paintings with a happy smile).

One day when Steve came in the shop, Tony beamed at him like a kid at Christmas, and Steve was unable to hold himself back from giving Tony a warm hug as a greeting, letting Tony’s infectious smile brighten his own face.

“What’s got you shining like St. Peter at the pearly gates this morning?” Steve asked, and Tony rolled his eyes, grinning.

“Seriously, where do you get these sayings? You’re such an old man. Here,” he said, pulling a laptop out from behind his back, a big blue bow stuck to the case. Steve’s eyes went wide and he tossed his bag on a chair so he could hold the laptop as delicately as if it were made of spun glass.

“Tony!” he breathed. “What is- this isn’t my computer!” The casing was a silvery aluminum, rather than black, beat-up, duct-taped plastic. It was thin and light and bright and beautiful and Steve swore he could feel it thrumming with power. Tony tapped Steve’s nose with his index finger.

“Ah, Mon Capitan, it _is_ your computer. It just has a shiny new dress to wear when it comes to the coffee shop,” Tony said. Steve shook his head, his eyes narrowing.

“No. No, no, no, this isn’t- this is a new computer. This is- _did you buy me a new computer?_ Tony, how much did this cost? I can’t accept- I can’t afford-“ Steve stammered, embarrassed as he pushed the laptop back at Tony. Tony just pushed it right back. 

“No, this is your computer. I built it. From scratch. For you. Because I wanted to, okay? You don’t owe me anything and since I built it, I couldn’t even tell you the price. C’mon, look! Look at it!” Tony took the laptop and set it on the table, opening it up to show off the features. Steve just stood there in shock.

“See? It has a new HD display that is better than anything on the market. It has a liquid-state hard drive that I have a half dozen patents on, and more terabytes than even NASA could use. Every media port you could possibly need is here, and it has retrofit capabilities so I can add more as they’re invented. I can’t wait for you to try the writing software, it’s so good it even makes _me_ want to write. Steve, I’m telling you right now this is the best laptop that currently exists in the world, and I really _really_ want you to smile or sit down or do anything but look like you’re about to faint, because you’re making me think I might have just lost my best chance with you,” Tony babbled, looking tremendously worried. 

Steve just stared. The screen resolution was incredible, and the mountain vista on the screen looked real enough to fall into. The keyboard was backlit with a shifting rainbow of soft light. He was stupidly focused on the fact that there was a touch pad like any other normal laptop, rather than a roller ball like on his ancient beast. He couldn’t comprehend the words that were coming out of Tony’s mouth. It was another language, right up until his last sentence. Steve looked up at Tony with wide eyes.

“What…?” Steve started, but Tony interrupted him, his need to fill the silence with nervous babbling getting the best of him. 

“And I was able to save your entire hard drive, see? It’s all right here,” Tony said as he tapped a key, and the screen changed and there were all of his desktop icons where they belonged, with a new wallpaper that made Steve smile like an idiot. It was that selfie that Tony took of the two of them on the couch, both of them looking stupidly happy. Steve looked at Tony in awe, then launched himself at him and hugged him like an octopus.

“Tony, I don’t- thank you, thank you so much, this is just- I don’t know, one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me, I mean, I really mean it, you’re saving my-“ Steve mumbled against Tony’s shoulder, only trailing off when Tony’s arms wrapped around him tightly, and he kissed Steve’s temple lightly.

“Anything for my best customer,” Tony murmured, his cheek resting against Steve’s blond hair for a long moment, before he pulled himself away. Steve let go reluctantly, clearing his throat and looking at his feet and the table and the gelato freezer, and finally Tony’s eyes. 

“Thank you,” Steve said sincerely.

“You’re welcome. Now get to work. I want to hear all about what you didn’t write by the end of the day,” Tony said with a smirk, and headed back behind the counter. Steve stared after him for a full minute, before realizing he was in big, big trouble. Writing smut about Tony was one thing, and flirting with him was another. 

But falling helplessly, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love for Tony was something entirely different.

___________________________

_“We’re safe,” Tony panted, slumped against the wall of the utilitarian cabin of the small jet that served as their extraction. “Stevie, we made it.” Steve was limp against Tony’s chest. They’d both been beat to hell. Tony took a bullet in the arm for Steve, and Steve ended up being the one to rip Tony’s knife from his belt and plunge it into the gut of the assassin. As he fell, he pulled Steve with him, and they tumbled down a rocky face and into the river. Steve was unconscious when Tony pulled him out, but after so many encounters, the assassin was finally dead._

_“Guess I didn’t need you to save my ass, after all,” Steve mumbled, shifting so that the bandage on his shoulder didn’t press into Tony’s ribs._

_“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, waving a hand vaguely. “What, you think I should turn in my Hero Card? Got rescued by my very own damsel in distress?” he teased quietly. The hum of the jet engines lulled them both, their adrenaline finally starting to fade._

_“I don’t want to leave you when all this is over,” Steve finally murmured abruptly. Tony looked down at him, tipping Steve’s chin up to see his eyes._

_“I don’t either,” Tony said._

_“Then marry me.”_

_Tony’s mouth fell open._

_“You- don’t fuck with me like that, Steven Grant Rogers. You’re delirious.”_

_“I mean it. I want you to be my husband. Tony, I’m in love with you so hard my entire body hurts with it. Be with me,” Steve said, his voice pure and earnest. Tony just stared at him, as though confused as to why anyone would want him like that._

_“Really?”_

_“Oh my god you asshole, really,” Steve said, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt._

_“Fuck, I love you so much, Steve. I’ll marry you a thousand times,” Tony said, lunging forward and kissing Steve hard and deep, laughing and crying and hugging him as close as possible. Steve could hardly kiss him, he was smiling so much._

_“It only takes once, Tone.”_

“Whatcha writing?” Tony asked, grazing his hand down Steve’s arm as he came around the table. Steve shut the beautiful, streamlined laptop and beamed up at Tony. 

“Nothing.”

Tony laughed, but didn’t sit down. 

“Well you know, if you don’t have anything and you’re stuck, you could always start by writing a scene in a coffee shop. Make the barista devilishly handsome and madly in love with the main character, who is a Brooklyn hipster writer with a bad attitude and a heart of gold,” Tony said, and slyly slipped a cup of something frothy and sweet onto Steve’s table. By the time Steve realized what Tony had just said, Tony was already behind the bar again.

Steve looked up at Tony, who studiously kept his back towards Steve, scrubbing mugs and banging espresso grounds into the trash. Steve couldn’t believe that there was any way Tony felt the same, but it had to be true. The lingering touches, the excuses to make conversation, the drinks, the art, the laptop…

Steve launched out of his chair, knocking it over in the process, and ran towards the counter, going the long way around, since he was neither tall nor graceful enough to hop it like Tony did. He ran right up behind Tony and pulled him around by the arm. Tony looked at him in surprise, and maybe a little fear, as though he’d ruined things.

“Steve, are you…?” Tony started, and was immediately cut off when Steve threw his arms around Tony’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss. There were no words that Steve could possibly write to describe it, except that it felt completely right, and his stomach flip-flopped a dozen times when Tony pulled him close around the waist and cupped the back of his head and kissed him back.

“Tony…” Steve whispered between breathless kisses. “I think, I mean all this time, I wouldn’t let myself believe, I- I am. I mean. I do.”

“What?” Tony panted.

“I love you.”

Tony just smirked wickedly against Steve’s lips

“I love you more,” he whispered, pressing Steve back against the counter and kissing away any other words or thoughts that might interrupt them, much to their mutual delight.


End file.
